The Prince and The Dark Crown
by slyprentice
Summary: The dark crown rested upon a jeweled pedestal, waiting for him.


**Title:** The Prince and The Dark Crown  
**Author: **Prentice  
**Feedback: **is very much appreciated...  
**Rating:** Mature

**Series**: Yes  
**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
**Warnings:** The story contains spoilers. Darkfic.  
**Genre:** General/Hetero/Slash  
**Summary: **The dark crown rested upon a jeweled pedestal, waiting for him.  
**Author's Notes: **Despite the fact that I've been working on this story for a while, I'm truly not sure what the pairing should be or if it should have a pairing at all so any opinions would be much appreciated.

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**I.** **Malfoy Manor**

Draco Malfoy stood at the reading lectern, body stiff and unyielding, leafing through the passages of an old book his father had -- undoubtedly -- left out to impress visitors. His fingertips glided over the soft pages, smoothing over lines of text and swirling diagrams, flattening against the carefully drawn pictures that were no more animated than the script. It had been many a century since such a book had been made so unquestionably plain with only the smallest of traces of magic in it.

At least, that was what his father had told him when he had questioned the man after leaving Borgin & Burkes that day thirteen years ago. It was still as fresh in his mind as it had been the day his father had told him…

"Not everything," Draco remembered his father saying to him as they walked along the dirty alleyway, "we covet in our lives has to be for _financial _gain, Draco. Sometimes, it is as simple as an austere book in a shop that will lead us to power." At the time, his eight year old mind had absorbed this drop of knowledge his father had bestowed upon him with a ferocity that, he realized now -- too late -- was not entirely healthy.

Power, to Lucius Malfoy, was everything. Position, placement, pedigree. These had been drummed, quite thoroughly, into his mind by his father and his father's father and, lastly, into Draco at the earliest of ages. One did not lower themselves by associating with muggleborns or sully their good name on a whim. It was not done. Ever.

And so, with a boyish ignorance created by his father, Draco had followed blindly in his family's footsteps. It had been so easy, so natural, to do as he was told; to follow the example of his elder's and not question his position in life. He was Lucius Malfoy's only son and heir, he could do no wrong.

The blonde's fingers curled, whitened knuckles pressing harshly against the butterfly thin paper. He had been an unmitigated fool to think it so. A puppet on the strings for his family's pleasure and manipulation. He had been a veritable halfwit to not see how amiss he was to have never questioned, never wondered, never even attempted to uncover the whys or hows or whens of so many things .

Blind, unshakable, faith he had given his family, his father and mother, and what had he been given in return?

An unspeakable legacy of madness and disgusting half-truths that burned him to his very soul until, one day he was sure, nothing but charred remains would be left in its stead.

'This is what you have left me, father,' he mused, fingers uncurling and sliding to the books edge, 'a house full of nothings and --'

His thoughts were sliced short with the quiet knock on the study door. He didn't bother himself to move. There wasn't a need; he already knew who it was.

"Enter." For a moment, he stared at the text before him unseeing, face still painfully blank as he listened to the door behind him slowly open and close. A soft breath in and the carefully cultured mask he had created over the year and half his world had twisted was firmly in place.

"Draco, darling, it's almost time to go." His mother's voice washed over him like shards of glass scraping against skin. Painful and threatening. He forced a serene smile and turned.

His mother was a breathtakingly beautiful woman, there was no denying that. Even now, in her forties, when many female witches were just beginning the slow process of losing some of their youthful luster, she still managed to look lovely and elegant. Time was being kind to Narcissa Malfoy.

That alone was a cruel irony. Charming and delicate, not even Draco knew exactly what his mother was becoming. She was so twisted inside, so disgustingly warped, and she spared not even her own son from being dragged down with her.

"We'll be leaving in a moment, Mother." He said without infliction, watching as she moved towards him. Her gown swished around her swaying hips, a benign smile playing across her lips.

_'So it begins again.. .' _

He thought, guardedly training his features.

It was grotesque how easily she did this now without guilt or thought but he wasn't a fool, not any longer. He knew exactly what she wanted of him here and now, as it was always the same, but he wasn't going to play that game. Not today of all days. "You should put on your robes before we leave."

She was at his side now; hand on his arm, looking up at him with a facsimile of innocence. She barely seemed fazed by the growth spurt he had had over the summer months. He couldn't help but wonder if she even noticed the changes in him anymore. "But you promised that I--"

"No, Mother. Not today."

Her fingers squeezed his arm, fingernails digging into the fabric of his robes. "Don't be a naughty boy, my dragon."

Looking down at her upturned face, Draco felt a familiar coldness seep into his stomach to coil tightly. It was always like this with his mother now. He shook his head. "I said not today."

Narcissa's features contorted, lovely face pinching and twisting unattractively, before smoothing. "It would be nice if you treated your mother with the respect she deserved, Draco. Your father wouldn't stand for the way you've been treating me."

"And how have I been treating you, Mother?" He asked, easily. He knew what she was going to say. He always knew.

The witch pulled away, sliding her fingers from his arm and smoothing her hand down her dress before she reached up to do the same for her hair. "Certainly not like your father would."

He could do nothing but smile grimly at her. "No but then, my father and I are nothing alike are we, _Narcissa_? We never really were, as you were so fortunate to know, alike in _anything_."

Narcissa froze, eyes flashing, lips thinning to a pale line across her face. "You are the Malfoy heir and you will--"

"It is time to go," he interrupted, eyes staring at her coldly. They'd had this conversation so many times before, when would the woman realize that it no longer meant anything to him. "We wouldn't want to leave _father _waiting, now would be? Not on a day like today."

It seemed an eternity before his mother was able to speak, to move, again and when she did, one simple word flowed past her lips viciously.

"_Bastard_."

To be continued...?


End file.
